


out of many we are one

by la_victorienne



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: It's been fourteen years since Arthur left the army.





	

Stealing the PASIV was just the excuse.

Eames knows this. Arthur knows this, too, whether or not he’s ever actually said anything; the minute they knew they’d gotten away clean Arthur had climbed into his lap still wearing his desert uniform and kissed him harder than ever before, and Eames had just known. _And fuck the army from me, too,_ he remembers thinking, looking over at Arthur in the getaway car, driving to a seedy hotel, his hand tight on Eames’ knee, knuckles white, jaw locked. They’d broken the headboard, that night, and burned the BDUs after. He saw it in Arthur’s eyes, in the firelight--the scorn, the hurt, the sharp hint of regret.

So no. Not for the PASIV, at all.

 

 

 

 

It’s been fourteen years, since that night. They never spoke of it again, but it’s not forgotten--it’s the night Eames knew how truly fucked he was, the night he realized he finally had a weakness, that Arthur was it, that Arthur was _it_ , and it’s not a memory he’ll ever forget. And it’s been fourteen years, and he knows Arthur better than ever since then, knows his quirks and his smiles and his hobbies and his tastes, and after it all, he’s still surprised when it happens, this new memory carving out its own indelible space beside the last.

“Turn on the news,” Arthur says, shuffling out of the bedroom. “Turn on the news,” he says, in the New York flat, in the morning, just before Christmas. “Turn on the news,” he says, instead of brushing down the tufted cowlick in Eames’ too-short hair, instead of kissing him until the coffee is cold, instead of sneering at the Wednesday kenken and putting his feet in Eames’ lap. Just “turn on the news,” and it’s the only thing he says.

Eames turns on the news. And yeah--it’s the only thing Arthur needed to say.

“...denied the service,” he makes out first. “...were forced to leave the military--regardless of their skills, no matter their zeal, no matter their years of exemplary performance--because they happen to be gay.”

Eames shuts his eyes.

He listens until it’s over, hair-pricklingly aware of Arthur standing behind him, Arthur in his pants, bare feet on the hardwood. He listens until it’s done, until in the echo of tinny television applause he can turn around and look, can let himself see Arthur twisting the ring on his left hand, and still find the words to speak.

Well, one word.

“Arthur,” he says, and his voice is hoarse.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and that is that.

 

 

 

 

They don’t quite break the headboard this time, but it’s a near miss.


End file.
